Strutting about parlours

She was sitting right there, just about an inch from my newly washed jeans (Yeah, I sometimes wash them). Anyway, there she was, sitting complacently. Probably leering at me from unseen eyes, confident in the knowledge that terrified of Misty's revenge I shall not strike with the uplifted slipper.

God, spider's give me the heebie-jeebies. And, confident ones even more so.

I was at a loss with what to do to her. Usually, the blow would fall remorselessly. Inexoribaly. But, not today.

"What it Misty found about it? What if she came across the tell-tale carcass while taking a short-cut through my flat?"

"Her wrath would be terrible; tarantulian to behold."

Quandry.

But you can't keep a good man down. Even half a so-so man, for that matter.

The blow fell swiftly. The tissue was employed skillfully, and the body deposited down the corridor in front of my neighbour's door. Don't much care for this couple. Always copulating at odd hours, and at high decibel levels to boot. Not fair to unattached bachelors struggling with granular beds, and impacts thereupon. Hopefully, Misty will take it upon herself to engage in some ménage à trois.

Bwahahahaha.